#that has the kind of setting i'm thinking of

[grotesquevi]

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ I WANNA BE THE TATTOO INK THAT SWIMS ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ DOWN THROUGH THE NEEDLE IN YOUR SKIN.

cw  # 18+ mdni, public sex, use of strap-on (it’s refered as cock/dick too) strap sucking, use of pet names.

side note  # if you recognize this, might be because this is a request from my previous blog vicorices (terminated blog 2025-2025 r.i.p) this is my new account. i'm trying to get all my writing back up slowly and with my whole heart. check out my arcane directory to see the process of re-uploading fics.

to be fair, sevika did want to marry, the thing was organizing a wedding.

you've been running non-stop the last months so she gets you're burnt out. your fianceé can be many things, but her patience it's a golden treat even when she don't have time to properly fuck you lately, she knows you'll be back to your own self after the celebration, and sevika’s not afraid of having to put up with your grumpy side any time of the day.

she can handle you, simple as a summer day with the air conditioner turned on. what she cannot handle instead, was that backstabbing shit you were pulling on her after being so well behaved, playing the part of an understanding wife until one of your friends give her the first photo and she has to look at it twice to be sure she's looking at it right, cause there's no way you're standing in a tiny polaroid picture wearing a purple set of underwear, comfortably laying around in bed — a bed you share with her every night.

it sends her into a spiral. the music is loud in a room full of celebrating guests and still, her mouth is suddenly dry and she feels like it has been a fucking year now without having sex, so dramatic as she's searching for you even when you're already looking at her, raising your champagne glass in a silent toast with a playful smirk.

and she thinks you'll have the decency to be kind to her after all, but your friends kept the photos coming, and each one seemed to be more obscene than the last one as she looked at them a couple of times afraid someone else could see it before tucking it away in the safety of her suit. at first a casual set of purple lingerie that scaled insanely quick to a very close frontal shot of your full lips slightly parted, and sevika can recognize your hands squeezing your tits together for the picture, you fucking tease — the third picture steals the air from her lungs at the sight of you already on your knees, looking up to the camera with nothing on top.

did your friends see them too? do they know how low they are helping you play? you're making her put up a show ‘cause you're laughing at her face, her erratic movements, how she forgot to keep on talking to the guests, show some manners from a zaunite already in the council, but shit she's so weak. you've deprived her for what? a month or two? can you really expect her to behave and not to act up stupid? you're wearing this beautiful white gown and sevika cannot help but wonder, truly wonder, by the look in your face, what are you wearing down all that expensive fabric.

low.

you're looking at her while you talk to your close ones and sevika fights the need to drag you away from everyone as the photos kept appearing randomly, hitting her in the worst moments, cause she thinks she got it figured it out, that she finally collected herself as the minutes pass until another friend appears with a sinful picture and she thinks to herself, she's going to have a word or two with you about that teasing game she didn't agree to be a part on.

how can she be mad at you anyway? when you're so good at taking those photos for her? when you look so beautiful making your underwear to the side to have a look of your soaked pussy you so eagerly show to the camera lens? you're biting down your lip cause you really are enjoying it, showing that nasty side you cannot hide and she just loves to have every single time.

her devotion to you knows no barrier at that point, cause people are laughing loudly, singing and dancing under the changing lights and the bands playing in the background, yet sevika's blatantly stealing you from the rest and there's no point in saying no when she's pulling you to the tiny photobooth you thought it'd be cute to take up pictures for the guests and have a little token of your union to your wife to take home, closing down the red curtain to corner you against the camera wall.

"did you like the photos?" you have the audacity to ask with a smile on your lips — "it's a reward for being so good to me all this time."

"is this your idea of reward, doll?" sevika cannot hide the smirk on her face, not when she’s actually enjoying all the talking for once. "haunt me the whole night until i can finally get you alone?"

"it's fun" you try to defend yourself, but you already lost the whole case as her big hands fall against your figure, tracing your sides as she mocks your words: you have different views of fun clearly. "i was going to make it up to you later, vika. the two of us."

"make up to me you say," she chuckles, almost not believing you "well take care of me now then. i deserve it."

she does it really, so you let her push you around, use force to pin you down against the wall as she takes what she's been anxiously craving, cursing against the complex fabric of your wedding dress until she's able to grip it in one hand, noticing the same purple set she saw before in the pictures.

"fucking slut doin' this on purpose" sevika shakes her head in disbelief as she takes a look of your body in the colorful lingerie "and you were going to be cruel and make me fucking wait to have you? on our own wedding day?"

"vika-"

“you took the photos, fuckin´ deal with it.”

“what if someone comes in?”

“i’ll tell them to fuck off,” she promises quickly like she thought about it all already “it’s our day, our wedding.”

there’s something about the way she’s saying it that makes you oblivious to the rest, makes your head spin cause you forgot about your worrying, the guests, the cake and everything in between. so you're not aware of when you pushed the red button on the screen of the photobooth, nor when it activates it's original purpose when sevika's fully into making out with you, capturing the sight of your figures blending together in the same picture — by the second shot you can notice the smirk on her brown lips and in the third, it's not really visible as she seems to be too close to the camera lens, making the image blurry as she attacks on your neck.

maybe it's the thrill of being discovered, the fact sevika can feel the flash of the photos being taken, but she wishes to be patient again — have it in at least a couple of hours on her actual wedding night for a chance, privately, but the strap she choose willingly to wear in a way of fully teasing you, was now pushing against your leg and you have to stop for a second with your brows furrowed.

"is that-" sevika's nodding and you want to say something, but you find amusing to know your wife is wearing a strap-on to your wedding celebration, one you surely have seen already.

"make up to me," she repeats once again, serious this time "for being cruel. after that you can explain me how you took those pictures."

no one interrupts anyway. the music's too loud, the sweat in the air is too strong and guests already drank a lot so no one gives a shit when you're getting on your knees, when sevika's toying with your hair as you're the one to unbuckle the belt from her pants, the one who kisses the happy trail of her lower belly without protesting, noticing the blue silicone as her pant pools in her ankles and your wife cannot seem to care about anything but the sight of you on your knees.

"get it wet" sevika's less gentle now as she's pointing to her fake cock, licking her lips like she can taste yours in them before adding: "so i can fuck you good, okay?"

to be fair — it's just an excuse, cause she knows you're dripping in your pretty purple panties, that the dildo would split you open yes, stretch you out even without making much effort, but she just wants to see how you do it, how you become a drooling mess, salivating all over the floor, getting your dress wet totally unaware of everything else.

and hell she wishes she could feel it all, cause you look so pretty with your mouth full it's insane, pushing against the rubber to take it in your throat further until you make yourself gag, and your wife takes care of you, so she's pulling away but in all honestly the sight of you debauched already only spurs her on 'cause the amount of saliva coating your lips connecting you to her dick makes her insane, cleaning the corners of your mouth with her thumb.

"easy there, get used to it and take it slow," her voice is rough as she helps you put your hair up in a ponytail vika holds in her mechanic fingers, watching your polished moves as you get to work again, relaxing until the tip of your nose is touching her skin, and your eyes are watering but she can feel your breathing on her, the friction between her legs every time you move to take her deeper, the fabric of the harness consistently rubbing between her legs — "there you go bunny. s'good taking it all, go on keep sucking and don't get distracted."

you want to do good, desperate to please her over and over again, you can take it. that's what she says as her hips involuntarily thrust against your mouth, and it's so slippery the rubber cock slides inside your bucal cavity and she's roughly hitting on the back of your throat until there's this sound you make involuntarily each time the strap invades your mouth and makes you choke, leaving you a mess as you're drooling all over your tits.

her flesh hand does a good job on making you move, fingers tightening in your hair as she sets an steady pace against your mouth, swollen lips that close around the shaft as she pushes it deeper, cleaning up your tears cause she don't want your make up to be ruined, all pretty trying hard for her.

she's going to cum like this, inevitable. you're looking up to her with your big eyes, a damn smirk cause even when you're struggling you're having so much fun you cannot help it, and once again she's needy for more than what she'd like to admit.

the movement of her hips rubs her right in the spot when sevika's already so sensitive soaking her inner thighs, forcing her cock in your mouth — it's so good, you're so damn good.

so she cums around nothing, your sloppy movements as you suck on her strap, that zoned out look you have that only makes her moan hastily, leaning against the photobooth to press that fucking button again that's been randomly taking pictures now capturing the features of your wife as you now disappear from the frame, the pleasure on sevika's face she's unaware before pulling you upwards again, making you stand as she parts your legs with her knee forcing you to turn around to have a good view of your ass.

"my good little cocksleeve, always ready to be stuffed," she praises, leaving wet kisses on the expanse of your shoulders, going down your spine as she don't bother to take your panties off, no, she wants to fully fuck you in them "spread yourself open, help me sink in you."

your hands come up to grip on your asscheeks, pulling them aside to help your wife reach deeper, use you better by all means. the tip of the cold silicone wet with your own saliva kisses your entrance, and you melt away when sevika's finally fucking you until the base of her cock disappears inside your warm cunt, holding you still even in a secluded space.

she's shoving her fingers in your mouth, making you suck on her digits with a hungry look: lame, she's gonna cum again and she's acting up so fucking lame.

"fucking take it," the damn camera flashes again and sevika has lost count of how many pictures are waiting outside the booth of you two, but she's too busy to say something when she's sinking inside your drenched pussy, pulling on your hair as she grips on the curve of your hip, making you move with her as she begins to get rougher, each time more demanding, deeper — "that's it. make space for me, it's not that hard, isn't it?"

she's on a sinking ship either way: slow is now overrated and she would rather dive in headfirst to openly drown in you.

was that so bad? i mean, you're married to her now.

[bobblestheninja]

See the thing is personally that I'm okay with the modern terms if it's meant to be in a Tolkien way (not token, Tolkien) where the story is kinda intended to be read as being a regionalised or modernized translation of an older text. Then ofc the person who hypothetically regionalised it may be using the terms of the modern day, and picking the ones that are as close to the older variants as possible.

But it's all about the worldbuilding and framing of the story.

For one of the characters I write, she's an ancient goddess, and often refers to trans people as "men/women/people of choice" because they decided their own gender and gender presentation, instead of it being decided for them by biology. Or she calls them my daughter/son/cub, because she's a goddess of that kind of thing, so she sees them as being her people.

She wouldn't use the term "trans" because, even though she does understand modern English, and is capable of speaking it due to divine omnilingualism, she is from ancient mesopotamia, several hundred years before Latin really came into being as a language. She doesn't really think of gender in the same way.

She has a child who loves wordplay and is delighted by the new term "genderfluid" because yes, they're a shape shifter, their gender is a fluid. But for millennia before that she called them her cub, because they are lion shapeshifters, and so cub was clearly the appropriate term.

Have fun with it, figure out how the characters would see the world and how they would see gender and sexuality. Think about how you would describe it if you didn't have the words that you did, or the gods in the world, or the environment. Maybe even take a moment to make up some kind of lore on how things like transitions would be accomplished, if there would be magic forms of gender-affirming care, if it would be the domain of apothecaries, or healers, or even the clergy of a specific god. Would transitions primarily be social, are there herbal hormone treatments, or potions, or rituals you preform under a certain set of celestial circumstances?

It's very #problematic of me I'm sure but if they must do either I really desperately prefer authors coming up with fancy always-italicized elven words for being gay or trans than having preindustrial warrior aristocrats and barely-socialized monsters have a vocabulary that casually includes 'demisexual' and 'enby'.

This is only slightly a principled stance (queernorm fantasy worlds are very obviously not trying to have any sort of realistic political economy of gender, which I only slightly judge them for), mostly just painful aesthetic mismatch.

[dcmainlybillythoughts]

Captain Marvel bringing a group of his colleagues to the rock for some reason and having to keep them from touching all the dangerous stuff he just has laying around.

Captain Marvel before even letting them inside: Listen, I've seen movies. I know that the phrase "don't touch anything" always ends badly. That's why I'm going to ask you to point at things you think you wanna touch so I can tell you what they do. Then you can decide if you really wanna touch it or not. :)

Flash: Hey, what's this doohicky inside this snow globe?

Captain: That is a very delicate spatial rift, if that glass breaks it will either tear open a portal to unspeakable horrors or it will impose on itself and create a black hole. Kind of a 50/50 shot.

Flash: Alright then. *Backs away to the other side of the room at super speed.*

Batman staring at the throne with a giant rock crushing it: Hm.?

Captain: That's the Wizard's resting place. That rock fell on him after he hit me with a train and struck me with lightning. You can light the blazer to talk to his ghost if you want.

Batman: Mm... I'm good.

Wonder Woman reaching towards the flowers hanging down from the ceiling: My, what are these flowers? I don't believe I've seen these before.

Captain: Those came from the realm of the gods, they bloom from the roots of their life tree when exposed to air. Warning, they may smell sweet now but the thorns have venom that smells like absolute death. Just don't prick yourself, they're sharp enough to cut clean through dragon scales.

Wonder Woman: I believe I shall just admire them from afar, thank you.

Superman: I'm almost scared to ask, what's with the glowing orb next to the giant demon statues?

Captain: Ah, those are the 7 deadly enemies of man, although if you're Christian you probably know them as the 7 deadly sins.

Superman: And the orb?

Captain: Don't touch it. That will set them free.

Superman: Roger that.

Green Lantern running into the room breathing heavily with cuts and scratches in various places: I just opened one of those crazy doors and I got mauled by crocodiles because I interrupted their poker game.

Captain: And that's why you should listen to me. *Pats GL on the head sympathetically while shaking his head*

[clairewritesfanfics]

What would you think about a Reader that has precognition powers, like Garnet from Steven Universe or Bruno from Encanto? With the Mark variants finding and rescuing them from a highly secret and highly guarded GDA facility, because that kind of power Cecil would definitely want under his control.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry this took so long, I had to rewrite numerous times. I kept hating what I wrote. At first this was supposed to be several headcanons, then actual imagines, then it became a one-shot. Anyway, anon, you didn't give specific pronouns, but I hope you don't mind that Reader is AFAB here. It just naturally unfurled that way. Also, I'm unfamiliar with the Steven Universe lore so I just went with Bruno's and just foresight powers in general.

Working title: The Idea of You

Reader Character Settings: AFAB, she/her

Characters: Flaxan, Mohawk, Omni-Mark, Shiesty, Genderbent Mark, Full Mask, Target/Striped, Head Cap, Sinister, Prisoner, Viltrumite

Trigger Warnings: Swearing.

You were in the middle of painting. It was not a prophecy or vision, just a regular painting of some beach you’ve only seen from an encyclopedia. 

As you brushed the finishing touches, the wall behind you exploded. 

Strong, alien arms wrapped around your waist before you could turn. 

Your panic was somewhat dulled when the person holding you spoke, “You’re safe...” The voice was masculine. 

“Um,” you began, “I’m sorry but can you let go of me first?”

A low, amused chuckle was his reply. He didn’t let go but he did loosen his hold, allowing you to twist in his embrace and look at the man who just broke through your prison.

Locks of raven hair lazily fell over giant bug-like goggles. He wore a white and blue-green suit that reminded you of Buzz Lightyear, and of those insectoid wannabe invaders that showed up in your nightmares and on your various works of art.

A lot of things were different, but you have seen this man in many visions. You recognized that jawline anywhere.

Your fingers traced over the strong lines of his face. “You’re Markus Grayson.”

He stared at your hand and you pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’ve never–”

“–never talked to a real person before? I figured as much, you told me that.”

You understood immediately. “So that’s why your costume is different. You’re not from here, are you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll explain everything on the way out.”

“Out?” You bounced forward until your nose almost bumped into his mouth. “You’re really going to take me outside? Can you take me to Burger Mart? I always see it but I’ve never been.”

His face softened. “I’ll take you anywhere you want, sugar.”

Your stomach did flips at the pet name. “Okay.” You beamed.

He hooked his arm under your knees and secured you to his chest. “Cover your eyes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to see.”

You had a feeling that’s all he was going to say, and you would rather not irritate your liberator, so you obediently covered your face.

You moved in the darkness, the odor of blood stung your nose. The halls were hot but Lightyear never let you go and soon, you could feel the cold air nip at your skin.

“You can look now,” he informed you.

Your pupils strained at the sudden brightness. 

When your eyes finally adjusted, you wrung your arms around Markus’ neck. You must’ve been hundreds of feet off the ground.

He chuckled. “It’s all right, I won’t ever let you go.”

Once your pulse calmed down, you took another peek at the world below. Everything seemed so inconsequential, like the dollhouse someone left in your bedroom while you slept several birthdays ago.

“I’m finally free,” you muttered. You turned to the burning Pentagon. “That’s where they kept me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you do that? Is that why you asked me not to look?”

He didn’t answer.

You watched the growing flames lick the sky. 

He opened his mouth and closed it again. 

“It’s okay. It was bound to happen, if not you, something else. The only difference is that if it weren’t you, I probably would have burned alive with the rest of them.”

“You’re not sad?”

“A little. It was my home, after all. But it’s funny, I’ve seen so many things thanks to my power, but I’ve never seen a future where I got out.” You gave him a teary smile. “So thank you, Markus Grayson.”

His face was unreadable until he smiled back. “You can just call me Mark.”

“Okay–”

“Well, what do we have here?”

Mark tensed as a third person arrived. It was Mark, again, but this version didn’t wear a mask or a cowl and his hair was shaved into a rowdy mohawk.

“You were supposed to destroy the GDA fuckers’ HQ, no one said anything about stealing.”

Mark Lightyear’s voice was taut and cold as he spoke, “Is that truly all you have to say? Because it seems to me like you’re angry that you didn’t get to play white knight.”

Mohawk’s arrogant smirk twisted into a scowl. “Hand her over.”

You flinched.

“You’re scaring her.”

“Fine, let’s set her down somewhere and talk things out, Mark to Mark, then we can decide who takes her home with them.”

“You’re way in over your head, kid.”

Mohawk snarled and charged forward but Mark dodged at the last minute. “Hold on,” he ordered before blasting through the clouds.

You couldn’t hear your own screams with the angry whipping of air around you. 

He didn’t slow down until you two reached the middle of the Pacific.

“I’m sorry, I had to be fast.”

You waved his apology off, unable to reply with your breakfast threatening to leave the way it came. 

“Don’t worry, we should be safe for now. They shouldn’t be here.”

You breathed steadily. “I’m all right but… you really shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Things that tempt fate.”

He smiled. “You always said that.” 

He reached to touch your cheek but you gently stopped him.

“I don’t know what you expect from me,” you said slowly, “but I can’t replace what you lost.”

“...I know.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I can never be angry with you.”

“So why did you help me?”

His smile turned sad. “Because it’s you.”

Your heart fluttered with envy and warmth. If you met the Mark Grayson of this timeline, then would someone love you like this too? 

“I know you mentioned wanting to go to Burger Mart, but it’s too risky to bring you to places full of people.”

“Yeah, I guessed as much.”

“I can take you somewhere else though.”

***

“Hey, if it gets thick enough, can we try eating the snow?”

You were as giddy as a Siberian Husky at the sight of powdery snow pouring on Mount Fuji. Mark refused to land though, and you were still in pajamas, so you can only admire from afar. 

“Do you have any idea how polluted the air is on this planet? You’re not eating the snow.”

You laughed. “I’m kidding, you grump. But you gotta admit it’s tempting, it’s so pure and white, like vanilla ice cream. Donald used to give me the same vanilla ice cream cake every birthday.”

“I thought you never talked to anyone before.”

“I haven’t. I didn’t even know it was Donald who sent me cake, when I woke up, it would always just be on the table. But I saw him once in my vision, he was carrying the box from the bakery to his car. I’m going to miss him.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like we had an actual relationship.” This was the problem with precognition. You saw things others didn’t want you to see, and it deluded you into thinking you had a connection with them. 

“We should go,” Mark said after a while.

“Can’t we stay for a little longer? Just a little?”

“You can admire the snow and more mountains when we get home, I promise.”

“So it’s true.”

Your skin prickled as you felt a hot, intense gaze behind you. 

You reluctantly lifted your head and saw Mark with spikier hair and draped in red and white. Even you could tell that he was more dangerous than the mohawk guy.

“Why would you bring her here wearing just that? She could freeze to death.”

“I’m afraid that’s none of your concern, and don’t worry, we were about to leave.”

“You’re not going anywhere with my wife.”

The air buzzed.

Mark looked at you and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For–AAAAHHHHH!” He threw you into the air.

Lightyear intercepted Omni-Mark before he could even react.

You were still screaming and flying when someone else caught you.

“Holy crap, you’re real.” A blue veil flapped in the wind. “Fuck, I thought that lensless freak was shitting with me about what he saw but you’re real. And that bug fucker tried to steal you away.”

“Uuh…”

“Hey, don’t be scared. It’s cute but you got nuthin’ to be afraid of.” He grabbed the hem of his shiesty and pulled it back, revealing the face of, who else, Mark Grayson. “It’s me, babe.”

“I-I don’t–”

“You’re as luminous as ever. Am I using that right? You said I was luminous once, it was during our first dance together under the moon.”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

He shook his head. “I know you’re a different version, but it’s still you, and that’s all that matters to me.”

That… is disturbing. Did the other versions of you have magic vaginas or something? How are these men so obsessed with the idea of you?

“Come on, let’s go–”

“I don’t think so,” it was a feminine voice this time.

Shiesty clicked his tongue as someone hovered closer. 

This Mark was a girl. She was, naturally, gorgeous; she could pass for an idol, though her physique was more Amazonian than delicate. Her thick black hair was tied into a long braid and she didn’t wear any goggles or mask. 

“Enough. We all need to talk about this properly.”

You squeaked when Shiesty nearly crushed you against his chest.

Girl Mark glowered at him. “You’re hurting her.”

He stopped and you could finally inhale.

“I agree.” Another one appeared, his head, face and neck were covered with a mask that seamlessly blended with the rest of his sleek onyx costume. You assumed he was also a Mark. “We’ll kill her if we keep passing her around like a football.”

“She’s no good to anyone splattered on the ground,” taunted one Mark dressed like a bee. When he saw you looking at him he smirked. “Don’t worry, honey. You know I would never let anyone hurt you, not even myself.”

Another Mark with stripes on the sides of his arms tried to float closer towards you but Shiesty pulled you away. Stripes sighed. “Fine, let’s call a truce. For now.”

“That sounds like a plan,” agreed a bald Mark. When he caught your lingering stare, he averted his own and rubbed the back of his neck.

Mohawk was here as well. You could see specks of blood on the philtrum of his nose. “Only if none of you fucktards try to steal her away while we ‘talk.’” 

Beside him was a Mark whose head was covered by a blue cap.

Head Cap Mark waved at you, then he blew a kiss.

Mohawk elbowed him.

A Mark Grayson draped in metallic gray and pearl white floated towards the growing circle. “I am willing to cooperate, so long as she–” brown eyes, dark enough to be black, fell over you “–is not put in danger.”

Omni-Mark and Lightyear finally joined. They were both bleeding and panting, but punching each other’s brains out has calmed them down.

Without thinking, you reached inside your pocket and offered a handkerchief to Lightyear. 

If looks could kill, he would have been reduced to meatballs with the number of jealous glares directed at him.

“Hey, no fair!” The cheeriest sounding Mark yet shot between you and Lightyear. This Mark’s mask had no goggles. He had cuts all over his pretty face. “What about me? I have way more injuries than him!” He pouted.

“Same here!”

“Me too!”

“Me three!”

Omni-Mark scoffed. “Children.”

Lightyear glared at him. “You’re one to talk.”

“You wanna go–”

“Achoo!”

Brown eyes and unreadable goggles turned to you.

You rubbed your nose and sniffed.

As though a switch had been flipped, the ragtag bunch fell into an organized rhythm. 

They systematically split up in small groups, leaving you in the hands of Shiesty, who carried you away from the mountain. Omni-Mark and Lightyear followed you like guard dogs.

You four stopped at a nearby beach with a tolerable temperature.

“Whoa.” Your eyes sparkled at the sight of the sea. 

“You smell that, doll?”

You nodded.

“There’s nothing quite like the smell of the beach.” Shiesty let you down, the soft sand tickled your toes. 

Once he let you go, you started running towards the waves.

Lightyear and Omni-Mark tried to call you back, to be careful, but Shiesty raised his hand. “Let her be. She needs this.”

You slowed down before your feet could touch the water. You pulled at the legs of your pajama bottoms, took a big gulp of fresh air, and stepped into the sea. The sand beneath your feet was pulled back by the tides and it felt like the ocean itself was trying to grab you, too.

You giggled. If you died right now, it wouldn’t be good, but… 

You looked at the horizon, where the sky kissed the sea. Endless. Beautiful. “It wouldn’t be too bad if this is the last thing I see.”

A heavy fur coat was draped over your shoulders. “As if I’d let that happen.” Girl Mark had found her way next to you. Slowly, she dropped her legs into the water. “You seem calm, all things considered.”

“Well, once I got over the multiple versions of you coming here to destroy Earth and take me away, I realized that this situation isn't that bad.”

Her laugh was sweet and light, nothing like the loud coarseness or restrained rumbling of her male counterparts. “What counts as ‘bad’ in your book?”

“Dying before I got to see the outside world would have sucked." You glanced at the azure sky. "I've seen countless futures, but in not one of them was I ever free.”

Her coffee eyes regarded you with a solemn longing and a hint of pity. She looked at the horizon. “You know what you called me? In my universe I mean.”

You shook your head.

“You called me Marcy.”

“Marcy as in–”

“–as in the Vampire Queen.”

You both laughed.

“So your name is Marceline?”

“Nah, but I used to be super pale, like paper-white pale. The other girls in our school called me all sorts of names, like White Lady or Sadako or Samara. But you said I was more like a badass vampire and that I shouldn’t listen to them, because they were jealous of me and how I ‘glow like the moon.’”

“You really do glow like the moon.”

She snickered. “Thanks.”

“In your world, I really went to school?”

“Yeah. All girls.”

“Was I smart?”

“Smarter than me.”

Your stomach boomed and you covered it shyly.

She giggled and offered her hand. “C’mon, we should go before those idiots start throwing a tantrum.”

You grabbed her hand but didn’t move. “What do you think’s going to happen to me?”

“You’re the one who can see the future here, bubblegum.”

“But…”

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, squeezing your hand. 

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m not, but that’s the great thing about the future, right? Unlike the past, it’s not set in stone.”

You gawked.

She understood you.

There is no such thing as the future, only a future, and if a person is living life the right way then they have multiple futures.

You tried to explain that to the mirrors in your room that you knew were cameras.

Trying to find which one of those futures will likely happen is like fishing for a very specific type of fish in the middle of the ocean without knowing if it's even a saltwater species. 

Now, your power wasn't totally useless, it has helped prepare for earthquakes and stop terrorist attacks in the past. Hell, you've helped prevent murders. But those were all luck-based more than they were actual prophecies; if a floor is wet, there is a chance of slipping, so to protect oneself they will tread carefully, hold onto something for support, or avoid that route entirely. 

You gazed into Marcy’s eyes. “Right.”

Behind her, several Marks had started yelling at each other. 

She sighed. “Let’s go and stop them before they destroy the beach.”

“You, I can understand, but how am I supposed to stop those guys?”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow arched at you. “Please. If there is one person on this entire planet that they’re going to listen to, it’s you.”

“If you say so.”

She smiled and tugged you forward–

You gasped, nearly dropping your palette and messing up the canvas in front of you.

You stared at the hand holding the paintbrush. You could still feel Marcy’s comforting touch.

You smiled and applied the finishing touches to your painting. 

This author has several things to say:

I have a love/hate relationship with action scenes. When I know what I want, everything flows like water, but jksdfhhsdfl I just really do not like writing action scenes, they tend to feel repetitive.

I tried my best to give the Marks individual personalities, but I'm still unsure with what to do sometimes. (also, as I write this, I realize that I forgot to include Sinister and Target so after I write this note, I'm going to have to brainstorm again cheesus.)

I have never seen snow fall from the sky either.

I am very gay for Marcy.

Disclaimer: The image used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It was lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[seen-the-stars]

For your prompts post: 1, bucktommy, injured on a call

hi hello! since the prompt list is for chronic pain i decided to throw in some migraine tommy, i hope that's alright with you :> 1. "Alright, I will be your nurse today, if you like it or not."

The injury is, Tommy swears, not as bad as it looks; and yet Buck can see him grimacing in pain as he tries to listen to the doctor talk about what kind of painkillers he's supposed to take and when.

Buck makes sure to note everything down regardless, because he's seen this expression on Tommy before.

When he'd gotten the call, his heart had dropped to his knees for a solid minute, ears ringing with the knowledge that Tommy was hurt too much to actually understand what was being said to him—staircase giving out, a broken ankle, some cuts and bruises. Not the end of the world as much as simply an incredibly annoying thing to happen.

Now, as he sits next to Tommy on the bed he'd been lying in for the last couple of hours, he can't help but think that there's something else going on that Tommy isn't saying.

When the doctor asks them if they have any questions, Tommy shakes his head, but Buck opens his moouth before Tommy has the opportunity to stop him. "Would he be able to take triptanes? Hypothetically."

The doctor raises an eyebrow at him but nods her head. "Hypothetically there would be no problem with that," she says, and then doesn't ask any more questions, which Buck is extremely grateful for.

Tommy shoots him a look somewhere between grateful and annoyed, and that's when Buck knows he's right on the money. The doctor says her goodbyes, and after a few more rounds of signing paperwork they're out of the hospital and in Buck's jeep.

Buck helps Tommy into the passenger's seat even though Tommy swears he can do it by himself, and then he turns off the radio when it springs to life withthe ignition. Tommy rests his head against the headrest and mumbles a quite "thank you" before he closes his eyes, and Buck takes his hand and kisses it in answer.

The drive home is quiet and longer than it has to be because of course there's traffic, and Buck winces in sympathy every times someone honks in their vicinity.

"They're not gonna go any faster because you're honking your horn, fuckin' idiot," Tommy murmurs, slightly slurring his voice. It's adorable. Tommy loses all filter when he gets like this, and as much as it sucks for him, Buck loves this version of him just as much as all of the others.

When they're finally home, the sun is setting. Buck wraps an arm around Tommy's waist as they make their way to their front door; and after he unlocks it, he leads his boyfriend straight to their bed, props up the pillows for him, and draws the blinds closed.

Tommy makes a weak sound of protest, saying, "You don't have to do all of that, 's fine." Buck kisses him on the forehead.

"No, no, I'm going to be your nurse today. Whether you like it or not. Try to relax for me, babe, I'll be right back with your meds." He kisses him on the top of his head too, for good measure, before he sets out to get Tommy a big glass of water as well as his meds. When he's back, Tommy is already half dozing.

"Okay'," he says, careful to keep his voice low, "Take these. I'll get you out of your clothes so you can settle, okay?" Tommy grumbles, but he nods and takes the water and meds from him.

He kneels down to where Tommy's good foot rests against the floor and carefully rids him of his remaining shoe and sock, before maneuvering this leg to join the other one on the bed. Then, he takes off the loose pair of sweatpants he'd brought to the hospital, careful not to jostle the ankle too much. When he's done, he kisses the knee with the bad ankle, and looks up to see Tommy smiling at him, which makes it all worth it.

"What do you think about soup?" Buck asks, still kneeling next to the bed.

"Later, nurse Buckley," Tommy jokes, which is a good sign, "Come hold me for a bit?"

And, well, who is Buck to refuse that?

[pain prompts]

[steelheart-redux]

Steelheart Redux: Year 1 Retrospective

I meant to post this yesterday but forgot. Oops. Anyway, June 1st marked the official first full year of Steelheart Redux! For me, at least. While the comic didn’t go public until September, those who have been here since the start remember that I uploaded all of chapter 1 at once. That work started in June, so I consider that the comic’s effective birthday.

With that disclaimer out of the way: what a year it’s been! In 365 days, I drew 153 comic pages. That’s about 0.4 pages a day— a little shy of a page every other day. Granted, those numbers aren’t an even spread. I made all of chapter 1 in three months (68 pages) and then had to take a break for a while because of wrist strain (wonder how THAT happened…) and then the amount of backlog I had fluctuated wildly for a while. Some days I have more time and motivation than others. It happens.

Quite honestly, I’m mainly happy that I’ve stuck with the project. My worst fear was that I’d get a month or two into Actually Doing The Thing, then get bored, demotivated, and give up. Luckily, my brain has allowed me to stick with Redux with a level of consistency that is frankly unforeseen from me, and I’m just as motivated as I was a year ago, if not more, thanks to people's interest. I’ve said it before, but the reception to the story already regularly blows me away. I went into this with the expectation that it would take years for the comic to gain any real traction, if it ever happened at all. But here we are, a year in, with tens, if not hundreds of regular readers across multiple platforms. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly, and as I’ve said, I’m so, so grateful for the trust and support.

Looking back, the comic started on wobbly feet. That��s something I knew even at the time and had to make my peace with. Steelheart Redux is my first original story project, first long-form comic (first colored comic longer than a few pages, tbh), and first time I've ever really left the title of "fanartist" behind for longer than a month or so. I knew I was entering uncharted waters and that whatever I made, I'd later come to see as 'bad', or at least, not executed as well as it could have been. Unfortunately, the only way to get that experience and improve is to do it bad. So I did it bad!

STRUGGLES:

Chapter 1 is way too long. Not in terms of content, but in terms of page count. For some reason, I was utterly allergic to the idea of putting more than four panels on a page. While I do like the pacing of it, and the sort of slow ease-in to the world and the setting, I made way more work for myself than I needed to. I definitely could have cut at least 10 pages by compressing things without seriously hurting the pacing, and it would have saved me a lot of trouble. Figuring out how to "trim the fat" and get to where I'm going as fast as possible without making things feel rushed is still something I'm working on, but I'm a lot more intentional about things now that I know it can cost me time and physical strain. You can see the font size slowly shrinking throughout the comic's run as I pack more in, lol. Honestly, it kind of works.

I have various other nitpicks. I'm sparing myself from the general "I don't like how I drew that"s in terms of anatomy and such, as those are just an inescapable result of improving as an artist and not worth getting in the weeds over. I will raise my eyebrows over some lighting choices-- I went out of my way to plan out a way to make the nighttime section of early chapter 2 read as "night, but not dark", and then the entire bit was annoyingly dark as hell. Trying to get the purple DRACO to visually stand out from the concrete there was obnoxiously difficult. I don't think it's bad-- I like the 'scribble background' gimmick I came up with to save myself from having to do backgrounds there, for one thing-- but I don't think it would have killed me to brighten up that section a bit. Something to keep in mind for later.

Speaking of backgrounds. Maybe it's too early to say, but at least right now, changing the background style was a game changer. That was one of the largest time sinks of early pages, adding 2-3 hours to every page that had at least one or two backgrounds. They were doable, but tedious, and as time went on, I found myself enjoying them less and less, instead of more and more as I'd hoped. You can see details start to disappear as a result, as backgrounds stopped being a "fun worldbuilding element" and "visual element of the page" and became just "something I had to draw to get the page done". Changing the style to a much looser one has brought the fun back, and made it much easier to pack in all the details I actually enjoy drawing without getting bogged down in "is the perspective exactly right". I've written posts before about making things easier for yourself if you're doing a long-form project; this is honestly my best example.

GROWTH:

I feel like, looking back, I can see myself become a lot more confident with drawing various things. Steelheart Redux is filled-- intentionally and not-- with things I'm bad at drawing, which has forced me to improve at those things sheerly through unavoidable repetition. Mainly, this includes backgrounds, mechs (still can't get me to draw cars though LOL), full bodies, and profiles.

It's also interesting to see the way I draw characters change. Going into the comic, I'd already been drawing Arthur for years, but making pages forced me to really lock in his design and get comfortable with drawing it. While it's not too different in terms of content, it has a different 'feel' now. This, too, I know is inevitable, and honestly something I look forward to.

I've become a lot more confident in doing these things, which makes making pages less intimidating and lets me experiment more with layouts and angles I might have otherwise been afraid to try. It's nice! It shows in a lot of the end of chapter 2, which is one of my favorite parts of the chapter. I was worried about hitting those emotional beats, because they're setting up for a lot and really needed to feel meaningful, but I think I landed them alright. My character writing is still something I worry a bit about-- there's a lot of subtlety to these guys and this story I worry I won't be able to get across in a more visual story-- but that's something for me to increasingly focus on going forward.

Away from the comic, I've also improved a lot as a 3D modeler. My robot rigs have improved, and I have much better human bases to work off. I can also slam out a layout for a scene much faster, which is a nice time boost to my workflow.

Overall, despite the hurdles and rough edges of some of the early stuff, I'm incredibly proud of everything I've produced. This is the first time I've ever put my heart, body, and soul so thoroughly into a project like this, and I'd like to think it shows.

While we're still in somewhat of the early stage of the comic's story, I'm hoping I've made a solid foundation for myself. I'm so excited for what's to come, and hoping I can execute it even better, year by year.

[swordsoul17]

I wanted to add my own two cents on this topic, but I also wanna stress up front that I'm not an expert; I've read a few of what I consider to be the OG romantasies and have enjoyed a lot of YouTube critique content on the topic. I'm a fantasy and horror enjoyer foremost, I write but I've never published, and I know prettymuch fuckall about the process. That all said, having not read your book, I do find it a bit worrying that it would be marketed under that category, and I'll explain why and maybe you can tell me if my perspective is totally off base.

More under the cut cuz good lord I guess I have a lot to say about this???

So, my understanding has always been that romantasy is not merely a mashup of romance and fantasy but rather a very specific subgenre that more or less consists of Sara J Maas' ACOTAR series and the numerous clones its success has spawned (Lightlark, Fourth Wing, Quicksilver, Powerless... more I'm sure)

I saw other people recommending authors such as Naomi Novik and T Kingfisher in the notes, and while I can see what they mean (having read Uprooted and Nettle and Bone from these two respectively) I would have a hard time categorizing them as romantasy, because to me they lack the genre-defining features, which include but are not limited to: a dark, brooding, extremely powerful love interest (always a man), a sort of #empowered main character (always a woman who is both jaw-droppingly beautiful and kicks ass as a fighter of some stripe), a romantic plotline (often with a thrust at enemies to lovers) set against a backdrop of fantasy political turmoil, and of course spice sprinkled throughout. If this definition sounds kind of snarky, it's only because Sara J Maas personally injured me, using her books. Kidding.... kind of. Other folks in the notes have talked about misogynistic criticisms of the genre; I'll be honest, I haven't seen a ton of that personally. My own criticism of these works usually boils down to a few factors - undercooked fantasy elements, aggressively heterosexual often rather bioessentialist undertones, a sort of light YA writing style that collides unpleasantly (<- imo) with the sexually explicit content, as well as with attempts to explore darker/ more serious subject matter. I'm a big supporter of women enjoying things, and I don't have a problem with people reading erotica even though it's not generally what I seek as a reader. It's not misogynistic to say that ACOTAR and Fourth Wing, the only romantasies I've personally read, both have numerous instances where the author's conservative worldview bleeds noticeably into the work, to the point where it's something I've come to associate with the genre. I should also note that I am disproportionately exposed to controversial titles, because those are the ones which make it onto Youtube critique channels, so it could be that there's a whole world of romantasy that defies these characteristics and never made it to my radar.

This brings me back to the questions I had regarding your book, OP. I haven't followed for a super long time, but through the hints you have shared, I hadn't gotten the sense that it would fall into my above definition of romantasy like... at all. This worries me (again: layperson, outsider) a little because I've noticed that there seems to be a push from within the publishing industry to widen this excessively narrow genre category. This makes sense - if the genre sticks around, and I think it will, it will necessarily have to grow and evolve from underneath ACOTAR's long shadow (the fantasy I enjoy has experienced a similar evolution over the decades with relation to the influence of Lord of the Rings. I think this is natural.) However, there's friction when publishers want to utilize the booming, viral success associated with certain romantasy titles while simultaneously trying to broaden the genre. Regardless of my opinion, there's a large fanbase that *wants* ACOTAR clones, and I think it's important for marketing teams to be clear about whether or not a given book actually falls into that category, because ultimately the fans blame the authors when their expectations aren't met. Jesus, this is long. If you read it, thank you for reading it, and I hope I don't sound too negative there at the end. I really REALLY appreciate bloggers like you who talk about their writing and publishing journeys, and I'm wishing you and your book nothing but the biggest, fattest bucks and a rabid fanbase to draw tons of delicious fanart for you.

so my book is being marketed as a romantasy, but I haven’t read that much romance/fantasy (aside from the ubiquitous ones, like the princess bride and twilight)

are there any romantasy books people can recommend, to get me better acquainted??

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I hope this is fine to ask, because this isn't about writing per se, but it is about disability and characters, so I thought your opinion could help me.

When a fantasy character doesn't have ability that isn't real, but is normal within their world (like magic), people usually agree that they're disabled and count as representation in a way. What about things like facial differences? If a character looks different within their setting, but it isn't based on realism, can you say they're representing this group of people? Trying to come up with example – what if it's an object show -style media and someone has permanent noticeable mark, when is it safe to say that they have facial difference or similar?

Hey,

I'll start with saying that I'm probably one of the worst people to ask this since I'm actually in the minority who doesn't think that the "unmagical character in a magical world" counts as disabled literally at all. But I'll try to answer in a way that would be inclusive of that.

The annoying answer: it depends. "Facial difference" is a social category more than a medical one. Freckles and moles aren't facial differences, but vitiligo and birthmarks are, even if they don't cause medical problems of any kind. The difference is social i.e. how people with them are treated. Freckles are "normal", birthmarks are "different".

For an objecthead type thing, whether it "counts" would depend on two things: how it's treated in-universe, and how the viewer sees it. If it's supposed to be a facial difference equivalent, but the average viewer doesn't realize anything is different, it can't count as representation. The same way, if no in-universe character sees the difference as actually different*, then it also probably doesn't count.

*- (Seeing them as "different" doesn't automatically mean "being ableist towards them". You can be 100% aware that someone has a facial difference and still be nice to them. There's nothing wrong with just acknowledging someone looks different.)

A birthmark is kinda tricky, IMO, since it can come off as just a stylistic color choice. In this case it would be helpful to have some sort of "control group" (=similar characters who don't have a birthmark) to actually let the viewer know that this one is Different.

The safest bet would be to give them a difference that affects the features that objectshow characters usually share with real people: mouth, eyebrows, eyes. Some IRL facial differences that could IMO be easily replicated:

microphthalmia/anophthalmia/missing eye(s),

strabismus,

ptosis,

scarring,

facial paralysis (Bell's palsy would be the easiest),

conditions that cause structural facial asymmetry, like hemifacial microsomia, Goldenhar syndrome, Parry-Romberg syndrome, etc.

if all the characters have the same facial proportions, then you can play with those too. E.g. one character has an eye that's much lower than the other one, or their whole face is much more "compact" than any other character, etc.

Other differences that are more what-object-is-it dependant could be things like:

oculocutaneous albinism (either if it's an object that doesn't usually come with that coloration; or you could also give them sunglasses and/or a white cane to drive the point home),

tumors/growths, like with neurofibromatosis for example (again, for an object where that'd be clearly "different"),

birthmarks, vitiligo, etc. (if the object the character is based on is generally something that would be uniformly colored),

microtia/anotia (if the character has something that can be interpreted as ears),

a structural difference, like not having a part of their skull or jaw (if it's an object that normally would have a specific shape).

With some of these I would just caution you to pay attention what kind of character you're putting those differences on. Strabismus on the comic relief, neurofibromatosis on the creepy guy, skull indentation to imply a character is stupid, scars to show that the character is evil/heartless, just no - it's overdone and potentially offensive.

For non-object characters, it's generally much easier, because animals absolutely have facial differences. So you can just reference actually existing ones rather than having to make them up. Monty the cat is probably the most famous animal with a facial difference (and to test my "does it count as a facial difference if it's not on a human" question from earlier: this is a literal cat, but people still actively see him as different from other cats. So facial differences are definitely not a human-only phenomenon in the real world either).

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[rafaron1223]

SPY x FAMILY's Initial Plot

As previously mentioned in my last post, I found a magazine from 2020 featuring a segment with Endo discussing Spy x Family. In my last post, I shared the drafts of the volume covers, but now I want to dive into the really interesting bit here (that I've found for now lol) that is the manga's initial plot.

Spoilers for the manga ahead, as I'll discuss some of those here.

There are many things one can see when comparing it to the manga's current story, but keep in mind that this is merely an initial version of the story, and some things that are written here may not be indicative of what's to possibly come to the future of the story, but is still good discussion nevertheless to see what could have been.

This story has three parts, let's begin with the first:

So we can already see here that "A" aka Loid is a lot different in this version compared to what we have now. He retains his womanizing skills but is not a very good spy. Which is an interesting thing to do, but I just kind of think of Daybreak when I hear "not a good spy" lol. Though I got no idea if Daybreak has any charming skills in the SxF world lol. In any case, I think it would have been interesting to see how a less-skilled version of Loid would solve the conflicts that the current Loid has faced so far.

Another part is how this version Operation Strix (which more or less has the same goal) and the formation of the Forger Family was going to be handled. As this version of Loid was unfit to take on the mission, it was instead going to be assigned to another agent with an actual family. But because of Loid wanting to take credit for the mission, he decides to create his own family. I think seeing Loid acting more selfishly like this is very fascinating, as it's something I can't really see current Loid doing.

Also, Endo having Loid start creating the family by finding a wife first is an interesting choice, but I can see why he went for the child in the current version. It's a much stronger start.

Now we move on to the second part:

"B" aka Yor is very interesting to compare to her current version. Her reason for becoming an assassin is very different here, with Yor on a revenge quest to find the person who killed her family, which is part of the reason why she decides to stick with Loid. But aspects like her secretly desiring a normal life and falling for Loid during their first meeting are the same (though the idea of Loid immediately flirting with her is very funny). There is also Yor working as an office lady, which seems pretty similar to her city hall job. I remember Endo saying in the EYES ONLY fanbook that she was originally a janitor, perhaps this script was written after he scrapped that idea?

As a side note, knowing that Yuri's character was simply going to be just "Yor's brother" before Endo combined him with the SSS officer hunting Twilight by the time he got to chapter 10, I wonder how he would have played into this version of the story.

And for the third and final part:

To start, it seems like Endo always intended to set this story in a post-war era. He may have already mentioned it before in other media, but I can't remember, someone please remind me 😂

As for "C" aka Anya, there's a lot going on here. Usually we don't get a lot of Anya's backstory, so getting this draft version is really cool to see. In the current story, we never know what the lab is and how exactly Anya managed to escape it, but this version explains that she is a government experiment (which at this point I'm pretty sure we all think this lol) and escaped the lab with her telepathy. Reading how the orphanage she stays at afterward feels pretty similar to the condition we see it in chapter 1, but I imagine that's why Endo had some ideas to draw her as sickly at the start. Also interesting to note that she instinctively knew that it was a good place to hide from the government. For however old she's supposed to be, she's a pretty clever girl.

Anya also missing her parents seems to be an aspect of her character that remains in the current version of the story, though it's more about her mother than both of her parents.

Later, when Loid comes to the orphanage to adopt, pretty much the same scenes play out except that Anya hears the name of her parents in Loid's mind (or Yor's, seems like there was a possibility of her being there with him), which motivates her to get adopted by him, thus completing this pseudo family.

It's interesting that this version of Anya remembers her parents' names while our current Anya doesn't seem to at all (as far as we know). Makes me wonder if this version of Anya was slightly older, perhaps being an actual 6-year-old's age if the school admission plotline was a thing during the writing of this plot.

Endo has also stated in the EYES ONLY fanbook that Anya was originally going to have some sort of superpowers, and seeing the combination of telepathy and a little bit of telekinesis is wild. I wonder if Endo will ever revisit telekinesis and give it to Anya later down the line, but I'm not sure if I'd like that.

It also seems like Loid would have been slightly aware of Anya's abilities, but brushed it aside.

Regarding the final line of the plot: "C"'s target is a lieutenant general. It's a simple line, but there's nothing we can go off from here I think. But knowing that this version of the story states that Anya's experiments were headed by the government, I can imagine her remembering a particular figurehead from there, that being this lieutenant general.

All in all, I really enjoyed having to translate, read, and share this draft version of the story! Getting to see Endo-sensei's older versions of the characters we know as the Forger Family w

as super cool to see! The next post related to this will hopefully be the last, the entire 6 page interview with Endo-sensei, but I promise to deliver! Thank you for your patience, and I hope to see you guys next post!

[unsolicited-opinions]

Hi! Curious anon here

Do you believe it possible for someone to have "Pro Palestine." On their blog and yet be against netanyahu only, not Israel or Jews?

And if so, how would you feel about them interacting off anon?

Absolutely. I'm happy to interact with anybody who strives to be civil and intellectually honest. C'mon in.

I'm mutuals with a number of people who describe themselves as Pro-Palestinian and Zionist - and that's not a contradiction.

Since both of those terms have been muddied by propaganda, let me clarify:

A Zionist is someone who believes that the Jewish people have a right to national self-determination in a portion of their indigenous homeland. I'm a Zionist.

If being Pro-Palestinian means wanting safety, security, prosperity, and dignity for the people of Gaza and the West Bank, I'm Pro-Palestinian.

If being Pro-Palestine means being open to the idea of a new Arab state living in peace next to Israel, I'm conditionally Pro-Palestine, depending mostly on how to arrange for security and how to build trust for a lasting peace with a partner who has never previously had leadership to actually seek it.

If being Pro-Palestine means wiping Israel off the map, the murder or ethnic cleansing of Israelis, or depriving the Jewish people of national self-determination, I'm not Pro-Palestine.

Most of the Jews I know are somewhere in between loathing Netanyahu and actively praying for his demise. I've hated him 19 years longer than most of the Western "Pro-Palestinian" mob has known his name, and my loathing has only increased over time. I look forward to reading about his demise because lasting peace won't be possible to pursue while he's in power. He has to go. If he makes moves to start settling Gaza, that'll be a disaster for everyone.

Hamas has to go, and I'd like to see the PA either radically reform into a genuinely peace-seeking and effective governing entity (which seems pretty damned unlikely in historical context), or go.

I think there hasn't been an honest partner seeking peace on either side for nearly 20 years.

I hope that Arab Israelis, Emiratis, and Saudis will be very deeply involved in rebuilding Gaza after the war because none of them have much patience for radical Islamism or Jihadis these days, all have enormous resources to bring to the effort, and all have much to gain from that kind of success.

I think the situation in the West Bank is obviously unethical and not sustainable. Security is the biggest issue there and I really don't have any idea at all what the answer to that problem is...but finding an answer will require a completely different set of leaders with a different set of priorities on both sides.

I think Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib is on the right track with Realign for Palestine, and trying to actually seek peace.

I don't agree with Ahmed on everything, but he's smart, intellectually honest, capable of holding two narratives in mind as valid at the same time, and sincerely wants peace. That's exactly the kind of person I most want to disagree constructively with.

Here's an interview with Ahmed you can check out if you're not familiar with him:

I don't think my positions here are anything but centrism which many Israelis would find laughably optimistic, but you'd think from the behavior of Western "activists" on Tumblr that I favor Gaza-a-Lago or nuking Rafah...because they know nothing, but that doesn't daunt them a bit.

I'm very tired of profoundly ignorant Western idiots centering themselves and their feelings in any discussion of this conflict by condemning things they don't understand through the use of words they can't define to condescend to people they've never met operating in cultures they've never encountered, never studied, and know fuck-all about.

If they actually knew anything about Palestinians, if they actually cared at all about Palestinians, they'd be asking Ahmed how to help - not chanting Hamas's genocidal slogans and endorsing global violence against Jews.

I hate Hamas, I distrust the PA, I think the Western "pro-Palestinian" movement is doing enormous harm for mostly the same reasons Ahmed details.

But lasting peace won't be possible to explore until Hamas is gone and these tankie twats in the West are firmly told by parties actually involved to sit the fuck down.

[wildwood-faun]

Patternmaking, both basic and creative: The Shapes of Fabric

Once upon a time I used to follow the blog of someone who worked in the fashion industry who would write irate posts on fitting and quality issues, teaching me in the process why ready to wear trousers never fit properly, exactly how to set a sleeve, and why T-shirts sometimes start to turn themselves into corkscrews once you've washed them. I'm pretty sure this is not that blog, but I think I found it when I was trying to find the aforementioned one again.

The Shapes of Fabric is a really cool blog with a mix of basic guides like drafting pattern blocks (a base pattern you can use to create more complex garments) and really fun patternmaking experiments that are basically practical geometry.

If you're going to use older sewing sources, it's often really helpful to have at least a basic grasp of what pattern drafting is and how it works, so I'll be linking to some tutorials on how to draft some basic pattern blocks (bearing in mind that I've probably not used this source in particular, but the idea is more or less the same however you explain it):

pattern making basics

how to use basic pattern blocks

bodice block

dartless bodice block

pants block

The site also has a bunch of helpful guides, like these ones:

welt pockets

fitting bodices

fitting pants and skirts

sewing plackets and collars

more on collars

jacket sewing

sewing sleeves

sewing pants

There's also some really cool posts on dart manipulation, flounces, ruffles, "patterns that create patterns" (if you want to go off in a retro futurist way this kind of thing would be neat to incorporate), funky things you can do with sleeves, tucks (v useful if you're into Victorian stuff), detachable collars. Basically, go have a look around and get inspired!

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh @juliperezsilveira

----------------------------------------------------------

Gif from @daryl-dixon-daydreams

TW: walkers (zombies), fighting, unaliving, blood, injuries, feelings of helplessness.

Part 36

Dead Weight - Part 37

The room feels smaller than usual with everyone packed in—Alexandria residents mixing uneasily with your group as Rick stands at the front, his expression grim. You're seated in one of the folding chairs, still favoring your side where the stitches pull tight under your shirt. Five and a bit weeks since the warehouse disaster, one more week until Denise clears you for full activity. It might as well be a whole damn lifetime.

Daryl stands against the back wall, arms crossed, his eyes constantly moving between Rick and the crowd. You can feel his tension from across the room—the way his jaw works when he's thinking hard about something he doesn't like.

"The quarry's been a natural barrier," Rick explains, pointing to the map spread across the wall. "Keeping a massive horde contained. But the trucks that were blocking the exits are starting to give way. When they do, all those walkers are coming straight for Alexandria."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, and you see several Alexandria residents shifting nervously in their seats.

"How many are we talking about?" Aaron asks.

"Thousands," Michonne answers. "More than we've ever dealt with at once."

Deanna's face has gone pale. "What are you suggesting?"

"We lead them away," Rick says. "Create a path, make noise, draw them off in the opposite direction. It's dangerous, but it's our only option."

"That's insane," someone speaks up from the middle of the room. "You're talking about deliberately attracting thousands of walkers. What if something goes wrong?"

"Then we handle it," Daryl says from the back, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Same as we always do."

Rick nods toward Daryl. "Daryl's going to lead them on his bike. Make noise, keep them following. Abraham and Sasha will provide backup in a car."

Your stomach clenches at that. The plan makes sense—Daryl's the best tracker, the most experienced with this kind of thing. But the thought of him out there alone on his bike with thousands of dead following behind him makes your chest tight with anxiety.

"I'll go with Abraham and Sasha," you say, standing up carefully. "Extra backup."

"Like hell" Daryl's response is immediate and sharp, making everyone turn to look at him. His eyes meet yours across the room, and you can see the worry he's trying to hide behind his usual gruffness. "You ain't healed yet."

"I'm fine—"

"Y'ain't fine. Y'got stitches in your side and you can barely lift your arm over your head."

Heat creeps up your neck as everyone stares. He's not wrong—the injury from your own knife had only just started feeling better after weeks of careful recovery. But you hate feeling useless, hate the idea of everyone else risking their lives while you sit safely behind Alexandria's walls.

"Daryl's right," Rick says gently. "We need everyone at full strength for this."

As Rick continues explaining the logistics, you see Daryl push himself off the wall and make his way around the edge of the room toward you. His movements are casual enough that most people don't notice, but you can read the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is set.

He crouches down beside your chair, one hand resting on the back of it as he leans in close. His voice is barely a whisper, meant only for you.

"Ain't riskin' you," he says, the words so quiet you almost miss them. His eyes are fixed on Rick at the front of the room, but you can see the way his free hand clenches into a fist.

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his voice. He's not looking at you, can't seem to, but you can feel the fear radiating off him in waves.

"Daryl—"

You want to reach for him, want to tell him it wasn't his fault, but there are too many people around, too many eyes that might see and he's not one for public displays of affection. Instead, you let your fingers brush against his knuckles.

"I'm okay," you whisper back. "I'm right here."

He finally looks at you then, and the vulnerability in his blue eyes takes your breath away. "Just... stay put this time, alright? For me?"

Before you can respond, he's standing up again, moving back to his spot against the wall as if the conversation never happened. But the weight of his words settles heavy in your chest, and suddenly you understand.

This isn't about your injury, not really. It's about his fear of losing you, about the guilt he carries, even when he doesn't need to.

Rick's voice drifts back into focus, but all you can think about is the tremor in Daryl's whispered words and the way he couldn't quite meet your eyes when he said them.

Glen catches your eye from across the room and gives you a sympathetic look. He knows how much you hate letting them do all the work, especially when it comes to protecting the people you care about.

"So who else is volunteering?" Rick continues, scanning the room.

The silence stretches uncomfortably. You see Alexandria residents looking at their hands, at the floor, anywhere but at Rick.

"This is our home too," Maggie says firmly. "Glen and I will help with whatever you need."

"Same here," Rosita adds quietly, but there's steel in her voice.

More of your group volunteers—Tara, Eugene despite his obvious terror, even Father Gabriel. But the Alexandria residents remain mostly silent, their fear palpable.

"We'll need people to help set up the barriers," Rick explains. "Create choke points, funnel the herd where we want them to go. It's going to take all of us working together."

Daryl watches the faces around the room. Half these people look ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

They've been lucky, living behind these walls, but luck runs out. Always does.

Two days later, you're standing at the intersection where the temporary fence is going up, watching the organized chaos of preparation. Cars are being positioned behind the makeshift wall to create additional barriers, teams are stringing rope and wire between them, and everyone's working with the kind of focused intensity that comes before a big operation.

You're relegated to light duty—checking supplies, organizing gear, handing out water bottles—but at least you're helping. Daryl's been working all morning, fine-tuning everything, making sure it'll run smooth when it needs to.

"You okay?" Glen asks, appearing beside you with a crate of flares.

"Just worried," you admit, watching Daryl dig his spade into the dirt again. "It's a big risk."

"He knows what he's doing."

"I know. Doesn't make it easier."

A commotion near the fence line draws your attention. A small group of walkers—maybe six or seven—has wandered too close to the work site. It's nothing your group can't handle easily, but the Alexandria residents react like it's the end of the world.

"Oh God, oh God," one of them is saying, backing away as Rick and Abraham move to handle the walkers.

Another Alexandrian drops his tools and runs, actually runs, leaving his teammates scrambling to pick up the slack.

You watch as another Alexandrian stumbles backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as one of the walkers gets tangled in the tree line. Rick and Abraham are moving efficiently, but they're on the far side of the small herd, and there's one walker that's broken free, shambling directly toward the panicking residents.

"Move!" you shout at them, but they're frozen, clutching each other like that's going to help.

Without thinking, you grab the closest thing at hand—a long-handled shovel someone had been using to dig post holes—and stride toward the approaching walker. Your side screams in protest with each step, the healing wound pulling tight, but the frustration burning in your chest is stronger than the pain.

The walker turns toward you, drawn by your movement, and you swing the shovel hard. The blade connects with its skull with a wet crunch, and it drops immediately.

"Seriously?" you snap at the Alexandrians, who are still huddled together, staring at you wide-eyed. "I've got stitches holding my insides together and I can handle one walker. What's your excuse?"

One of them—Carter, you think—opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but you're already moving toward the next walker that's gotten caught in the fence wire. This one takes two hits with the shovel, your injured side making your swing awkward, but you get the job done.

"There," you say, breathing harder than you should be, sweat beading on your forehead from the effort. "Two down. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The Alexandrians are looking at you like you've just performed some kind of miracle instead of basic survival. It makes your frustration spike even higher. These are the people who are supposed to help when things go wrong tomorrow? The people your peudso family is counting on?

"Maybe next time don't just stand there screaming," you suggest, leaning heavily on the shovel handle as your side throbs. "Might actually try helping instead."

"This is what we're counting on?" you mutter under your breath.

Daryl appears beside you, wiping grease off his hands with an old rag. "They'll learn or they won't."

"And if they don't?"

He's quiet for a moment, watching Rick efficiently dispatch the last walker while the Alexandria residents slowly creep back to their work. "Then we handle it ourselves. Like always."

There's resignation in his voice, the tone of someone who's learned not to count on anyone else. It breaks your heart a little, the way he automatically assumes he'll have to carry the weight alone.

"Hey," you say softly, touching his arm. "You don't have to do this by yourself. Abraham and Sasha will be right there with you."

"I know." But his eyes are distant, already focused on the plan, on what could go wrong, on all the ways he might fail.

"Daryl." Your voice pulls him back to the present. "Talk to me."

He looks at you then, really looks, and sees the worry you're trying to hide. The way you unconsciously press your hand to your side where the scar is still healing.

The dark circles under your eyes from nights spent worrying instead of sleeping.

"Just... stay inside the fences tomorrow, alright? When this thing kicks off, people are gonna panic. Gonna do stupid shit." His hand finds yours, squeezes gently.

"I will," you promise. "Just... come back in one piece, okay?"

He nods once, sharp and decisive, and you have to believe it's a promise he can keep.

The morning air is crisp as you stand on the porch, Judith balanced on your hip, watching the convoy prepare to leave for the quarry. The weight of what they're about to attempt hangs heavy over Alexandria—leading thousands of walkers away from their home in the most dangerous operation any of you have ever conceived.

Rick is in front of Carl, his hands on his son's shoulders. "You take care of your sister, alright? And you listen to Carol and—" his eyes flick to you, "—and you do whatever they tell you."

"I know, Dad," Carl says, trying to sound mature but you can hear the worry in his voice. "Just... be careful out there."

Rick pulls him into a fierce hug, pressing a kiss to Carl's head before stepping over to you and Judith. His daughter reaches for him with chubby hands babbling away.

"Hey, sweetheart," Rick murmurs, taking her from your arms for one last moment. "Daddy's gonna be back soon, okay? You be good for everyone."

Judith gurgles happily, completely unaware of the danger her father is about to face. Rick hands her back to you, his expression grateful. "Thank you. For staying. For watching them."

"Of course," you say softly. Your side still aches from the surgery—five and a bit weeks healed but not quite ready for the kind of action they're heading into.

Part of you hates being left behind, but the rational part knows you're needed here.

Daryl's bike is nearby, the familiar sound making your heart clench. He's been quiet this morning, more withdrawn than usual, and you know he's going over things in his head.

He catches your eye as he heads down the porch steps and nods toward you, When he reaches you, he's gentler than usual, his rough hands careful as he touches Judith's cheek.

"Be good for m'woman Lil Asskicker" he says to the baby, his voice softer than most people ever hear it. Judith grins at him, reaching for his hair.

His eyes meet yours over Judith's head, and you can see the worry there—not just about the mission, but about leaving you behind.

Something vulnerable flickers across his face before he leans in, pressing his lips to your temple in one last soft moment.

He climbs on his bike, kicks it to life, and with one last look at you and Judith, he's gone.

The plan is solid—Rick's plans usually are—but there are so many variables, so many things that could go wrong. And he's leaving you behind, still recovering, still not at full strength. The thought of something happening in Alexandria while he's out here...

The quarry is worse than he imagined. Thousands of them, packed together like sardines, all held back by a few trailers that are barely holding. One look tells him this was always going to happen—the trucks were failing, the walkers were getting out whether they did something about it or not.

"Holy shit," someone breathes over the radio.

"We gotta do this now," Rick's voice crackles back, automatic and focused.

The plan unfolds like clockwork at first. They get the walkers moving, create noise to draw them away from Alexandria. Daryl takes point on his bike, leading them down the predetermined route. It's working. It's actually working.

Until it isn't.

The horn—loud, persistent, coming from the direction of Alexandria—cuts through everything. Every walker in earshot turns toward the sound, toward home, toward you.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl growls, watching all the planning fall apart in seconds.

Back in Alexandria, you're in the kitchen with Carol, Carl and Judith, flour dusting your apron as you help roll out cookie dough. It's peaceful, domestic—the kind of normal afternoon that feels almost surreal after everything you've been through.

"Think they're okay out there?" Maggie asks from her spot at the kitchen table.

"They'll be fine," Carol says with the kind of confidence that doesn't allow for doubt. "Rick knows what he's doing."

Carl looks up from where he's cutting cookies with Judith on his lap, letting her "help" by grabbing at the cookie cutters. "Dad's been planning this for weeks. They've got it handled."

You want to believe that, but the knot of worry in your stomach hasn't loosened since you watched them drive away.

Five weeks ago, you would have been out there with them. Now you're stuck on the sidelines, useful only for babysitting and baking, which you wouldn't mind if not for the risk everyone else was taking.

The first sign something's wrong is the sound—shouting, not the shouts of children playing but visceral terror in the distance. Carol's head snaps up, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant.

"Carl," she says, her voice sharp. "Take Judith upstairs. Now."

"What—"

The front door explodes inward.

Everything happens at once. People pour through the doorway—but they're wrong, all wrong. Crude 'W's are carved into their foreheads, fresh blood still seeping from some of the self-inflicted wounds.

Their eyes are wild, feral, like they've given up on being human. These aren't walkers, but they might be something worse.

Carol moves like lightning. The sweet, harmless housewife persona drops away as she pulls a gun from somewhere and starts firing without hesitation.

You grab the nearest knife—not yours, that's still in the bedroom, but a kitchen knife that'll have to do—and push Carl and Judith behind the counter.

"Stay down," you hiss. "Don't move unless I tell you to."

The screams from the house across the street cut through the air like broken glass. You can see Mrs. Niedermeyer stumbling out of her front door, blood streaming down her face, before one of the wolves brings an axe down across her back.

She falls and doesn't get up.

"We have to help her," Carl says, starting to rise, but Carol yanks him back down.

"We can't save her, shes gone Carl" she says harshly, though her voice cracks slightly.

Your side screams in protest as you duck and weave, avoiding the stream of intruders while trying to protect the kids. You're not as smooth as Carol, not as deadly, but adrenaline and desperation make up for a lot.

One of them gets too close to where Carl is hiding with Judith, and you don't think—you just move. The knife slides between his ribs easier than you expected, and he drops with a surprised grunt.

The reality hits you—you just killed a person. Not a walker, not some mindless corpse, but a living, breathing human being.

Your hands shake as you stare down at the blood on the blade, at the man's face twisted in death.

"Focus!" Carol shouts, snapping you back to the moment. "They wouldn't hesitate. Don't you dare feel sorry for them."

You nod. "We need to move!"

She nods back, still firing with mechanical precision. "The storm cellar. Get them to the storm cellar."

You scoop up Judith while Carl grabs the diaper bag, and the three of you bolt for the back door just as more attackers flood into the kitchen.

---------------------------------

Outside, Alexandria is chaos. Smoke rises from several buildings, and you can hear gunfire echoing from multiple directions. These people, are organized and vicious, tearing through homes like it's some sort of sick a game.

"This way," Carol leads you toward the storm cellar behind the houses, moving with the kind of tactical awareness that most people don't know she possesses.

You help Carl down into the cellar with Judith, the cool darkness a stark contrast to the chaos above. "You're in charge down here," you tell him, pressing the knife into his hands.

"Don't let anyone in unless it's one of us."

"Where are you going?" Carl asks, clutching Judith protectively.

"To help the others," Carol says grimly. "Alexandria's got people who can't defend themselves."

You're about to climb back out when you hear running footsteps. Enid appears, her face streaked with tears and dirt, running like her life depends on it.

"Enid!" you call, grabbing her arm. "Get down here!"

"I can't—I have to—"

"You have to stay alive," you say firmly, pushing her toward the cellar. "Carl, watch her too."

---------------------------------

As you and Carol move through Alexandria's streets, helping evacuate families and fighting off the Wolves, you catch glimpses of the horror they're inflicting. The 'W's carved into their foreheads aren't just marks—they're like brands, symbols of whatever twisted philosophy drives them to this savagery.

You watch helplessly as the wolves move methodically through the streets, their crude weapons gleaming red in the afternoon sun.

They're not just killing—they're butchering, hacking apart anyone they find with the same casual efficiency they use on the walkers they've herded inside the walls.

Bodies litter the pristine streets you walked safely just this morning, and the metallic smell of blood mingles with smoke from the burning houses.

You're helping Mrs. Henderson toward safety when one of them corners you both.

This one's different—calmer, more calculating. His eyes fix on the way you're favoring your side, and a slow smile spreads across his blood-streaked face.

"Well, well," he says, circling you like a predator. "Someone's hurt. You ain't at full strength, I could help you"

He motions to a walker on the ground.

"Wanna make the change?"

You raise your knife, but you know your slower than usual.

"Gonna be real easy to carve my mark into that pretty face of yours," he continues, pulling out a blade of his own.

Before he can move, Carol appears behind him, her gun pressed to his skull. "Try it," she says coldly.

---------------------------------

The sound of the horn cuts through everything then—loud, continuous, cutting through every other sound. You look toward the source and see smoke rising from the direction of the watchtower.

"Oh God," you breathe. "The quarry horde."

Carol's face goes pale as she realizes what this means.

That horn means there being led back. Right to you.

Miles away, Daryl feels his chest tighten as that horn cuts through the afternoon air. Everything they've worked for, everything they've planned, compromised in an instant.

"We have to go back," he says into his radio, his voice tight with worry.

"Daryl, no," Rick's voice crackles back, firm but understanding. "We stick to the plan. The walkers are following us now—if we turn back, we lead them straight to Alexandria. Straight to them."

Daryl's hands clench on his bike's handlebars. Every instinct is screaming at him to turn around, to get back to you, to make sure you're safe.

But the voice that sounds like Merle won't shut up. "Sure, tell yourself that, baby brother. Your girl's probably already dead while you're out here playing shepherd to a bunch of corpses."

"Rick's right," Abraham's voice comes over the radio. "We turn back now, we doom everyone."

Daryl closes his eyes for a split second, thinking of your face this morning, the way he'd kissed you goodbye.

The only way to keep you safe, keep the home your building safe, is to finish the job first.

"Alright" he says finally, his voice rough. "But the second we get these things clear..."

"The second we're clear, we go home," Rick promises.

---------------------------------

In Alexandria, you and Carol have managed to get most of the vulnerable residents to safety, but the sound of that horn means your respite is temporary.

Hopefully the tower holds or the streets will be flooded with walkers, and everyone will be trapped.

The sky is thick with smoke and ash, a heavy dusk pressing down even though the sun hasn’t fully set. You’re crouched behind a shattered fence post beside Carol, your breath ragged from sprinting through smoke-filled streets. Blood is smeared on your arm—not yours, thankfully—and your heart feels like it might split your chest open.

Screams echo through the air, distant and near. The smell of fire, blood, and decay mixes with the dust kicked up by the commotion the wolves caused. There's constant noise—gunshots, growls, yelling—and none of it is background anymore.

You flinch as a walker slams against the corner of a nearby shed—Carol lifts her pistol without hesitation and fires once, clean through the skull.

“You good?” she says, voice clipped.

You nod quickly, though your hands are trembling and you feel exposed. You don’t even have a weapon the knife you had is now gone.

Carol’s eyes flick to your empty hands, and without a word, she pulls a small handgun from her belt and shoves it into your grip.

“Don’t hesitate. You’ll get one chance.” she says, hard but not unkind. "Ready ?"

You nod again, this time firmer.

Then—sprinting from the smoke, Glen appears. He’s filthy, blood smeared down one side of his face, his eyes wide with urgency. His voice cracks when he shouts.

“Where’s Maggie?!”

You and Carol both stand, startled. “We—we lost her in the chaos, but she'll be fine she's stron—”

“She’s pregnant!” Glen blurts cutting you off, as if the words have been rotting in his throat for hours.

Everything stops.

The chaos doesn't, but for you, for that one moment—it does. Your breath catches, and Carol’s face twists—not in shock, but in a silent curse to herself. You, however, freeze.

“She—what?” Your voice is small, confused.

“She's pregnant!” Glen’s repeats voice breaking. “I don’t know if she’s okay, I don’t know where she is—I just—”

---------------------------------

BOOM.

The world lurches violently.

A massive groan of twisting metal and splintering wood tears through the air. You whip around just in time to see it.

The old tower the watchtower—damaged by the truck—finally gives. It tilts, groans, and collapses inward in a plume of dust and ash.

It slams into the outer wall.

And that’s when all hell truly breaks loose.

Walkers. Dozens. Then hundreds. Like a crack in a dam, and the flood is death.

Carol reacts instantly. “Move! Move now!” she screams, grabbing your arm and shoving you toward the nearest alley.

Glen stares for a beat longer at the breach, then bolts the other way, looking for Maggie.

Searching for the mother of his unborn child.

You follow Carol, pistol at the ready.

Your heart is hammering too hard to think.

All you can think about is Maggie. The look in Glen’s eyes. The way he said pregnant. The way his voice had cracked.

"We need a plan," you say, checking your ammunition. You only have a few rounds.

Carol nods, her expression grim but determined. "We hold out until they get back. Whatever it takes."

You meet her eyes, seeing the same fear you feel reflected there. "They'll come back," you promise, praying you're right.

"They always come back."

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Sweet Punishment for a Little Lie (Kicho)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Story Summary: Just before Kicho is set to leave the trading post for a few days on business, you catch a cold. Not wanting to worry him, you hide your condition and act like everything is normal—but there’s no way a lie like that could fool him.

It was already evening by the time I finally wrapped up what I was doing.

Mai: "All done! Gotta say it turned out pretty nice."

I held up the vest I'd made and admired it.

(I wonder if Kicho will be happy when he sees it.)

He has a business meeting and a party with a foreign merchant tomorrow.

Since he'll be showing the newcomer around town, he'll be away from the trading post for a few days.

The vest I made is for him to wear to that party.

(I want to show it to him right now! I wonder how he'll react.)

I stood up, vest in hand, my heart fluttering just thinking about the smile on his face.

[Kicho's Room]

Kicho: "Oh? Impressive. It's quite stylish."

Seeing his face light up as he looked at the vest made me smile.

(I'm so glad he likes it!)

Mai: "I'm happy it suits your taste."

Kicho: "Yeah, I really like it."

Kicho: "And as always, it's beautifully made."

Kicho: "You must've put a lot of work into this. Thank you."

Mai: "Not at all. I really enjoyed making it."

Kicho: "I'll wear it to the party tomorrow night."

Mai: "Great. I hope you have a wonderful time."

Kicho: "If it were up to me, I would've brought you with me."

Kicho: "But the merchant I'm meeting tomorrow is like the Tiger of Kai."

Kicho: "He flirts with any woman he sees, no matter when or where. I can't put you in a situation like that. I'm sorry."

His long fingers reached out and gently caressed my cheek with a tenderness that made my heart flutter.

(So that's why he couldn't take me.)

Mai: "Don't worry about me. Just focus on your work and do your best."

Kicho: "Of course I'm going to worry. I'll be away from you for several days, after all."

Kicho: "When I get back, let's spend some time together."

Kicho: "Will you wait for me until then?"

(I'll miss him too, but being cherished like this makes me really happy.)

Feeling warm and full inside, I gave a firm nod.

Mai: "Yes, of course."

Mai: "Ah—were you still working? Sorry for barging in. I'll head back to my room now."

Kicho: "Sorry I couldn't give you more of my time."

Mai: "It's okay. Good night."

I stepped out of Kicho's room, still a little reluctant to leave.

Mai: "Achoo!"

I sneezed, and a shiver ran through me.

(I feel kind of cold, and my throat's a little scratchy.)

(Could I be coming down with something?)

A bad feeling crept over me as I rubbed my arms.

(I should bundle up and get to bed early tonight.)

Hugging myself to keep warm, I hurried back to my room.

The next morning…

Kicho: "You didn't have to get up this early just to see me off."

Mai: "It's fine. I wanted to send you off myself."

Together with his subordinates and a few maids, I stood in front of the trading post to see Kicho off.

I straightened my posture and put on a smile.

Mai: "There's a party tonight, right? I know it's work, but I hope you enjoy it."

Kicho: "What I'm really looking forward to is wearing the vest you made me."

Kicho: "I'll be back as soon as the negotiations are done."

Mai: "Don't push yourself too hard, okay?"

Kicho: "I'm not pushing myself. I just want to see you as soon as I can."

The way he looked at me—so full of tenderness—made my heart race.

(It makes me so happy to hear him say that.)

Mai: "Hehe, thank you."

Mai: "I'll be waiting, so please take care during your trip."

Kicho: "Yeah."

Kicho: ".........."

His expression suddenly turned serious, and he stared at me.

Mai: "Is something wrong?"

Kicho: "Mai, you don't look okay. Your complexion seems a bit off."

Mai: "Huh?"

(That… hit a little too close.)

Kicho: "Don't tell me—you're not feeling well?"

(H-He's sharp. I thought I was hiding it well.)

The truth was, even though I went to bed early last night, I still ended up getting sick.

(There's been a cold going around, and one of the maids helping me caught a fever. I probably caught it from her.)

(But I can't let Kicho worry about me, especially when he has such important things to handle.)

(It's just a cold. With some rest, I'll be fine in no time.)

I forced a smile and subtly stepped back, putting some distance between us so he wouldn't catch it from me.

Mai: "It's nothing, really."

Kicho: "Are you sure?"

Mai: "Yes. Don't worry, I'm fine."

Kicho: "………"

Kicho's subordinate: "Lord Kicho, it's almost time."

Kicho: "Got it. I'll be heading out now."

Kicho: "Mai."

He stepped closer and gently brushed a strand of hair from my face.

Kicho: "If anything happens, call me immediately. Got it?"

Mai: "Okay."

(Good. I think I kept him from noticing.)

Mai: "Well then, safe travels."

Kicho: "I'll be back soon."

I smiled and waved as he mounted his white horse and rode off.

[Mai's Room]

Mai: "Haaah…"

(My head's pounding, and I feel so sluggish I can barely move.)

As expected, I started feeling worse and ended up stuck in bed.

(I need to sleep this off and recover before Kicho comes home. If I remember correctly, the maid got better in just a couple of days.)

Wanting to welcome him back with a smile, I closed my eyes, trying to give my body as much rest as I could.

(He's probably already there by now.)

(I wonder if the negotiations have already started.)

Even with my head foggy from the fever, all I could think about was him.

(I hope I didn't pass it on to him. I'm just glad I saw him off before I got too sick.)

(If I'd collapsed before he left, he might've canceled the whole trip.)

Mai: ".........."

Just then, a cold chill swept through me, making my body shiver.

A wave of loneliness and unease swelled in my chest, making me yearn for the comfort of someone I loved.

(I want to see him.)

(If only I could see him—even just in a dream.)

Longing for him, I slowly drifted off to sleep.

(Hmm?)

Something cold brushed against me and jolted me awake.

Kicho: "You're awake?"

Mai: "Huh?"

The moment I opened my eyes, the person I'd been yearning to see stood right there in front of me, making me blink in disbelief.

Mai: "Kicho…?"

Kicho: "I'm back, Mai."

It wasn't a dream.

He was really there, looking at me.

Mai: "Why are you here?"

Mai: "What about the negotiations? Wait—did two whole days really pass while I was asleep?"

Mai: "This isn't a dream, is it?"

My feverish, foggy brain couldn't make sense of anything, and the questions just kept spilling out.

Kicho: "It's not a dream. This is real. And it's only been half a day since I left."

Kicho: "I had a bad feeling something was wrong with you when I left, and it looks like I was right."

Mai: "Ah…"

His large hand gently touched my cheek with concern.

Kicho: "I'm glad I came back. I didn't think your fever would be this high."

His cool touch felt so soothing against my feverish skin that my foggy mind began to clear.

(He came back because he was worried about me.)

(I tried so hard to hide it so I wouldn't be a burden, and he still saw right through me.)

Mai: "Um, then, what about the negotiations?"

The fear that I might have ruined everything for him suddenly gripped my chest.

Sensing my anxiety, he looked me straight in the eyes. His gaze softened, calm and reassuring.

Kicho: "If that's what you're worried about… don't be."

Kicho: "I've known this business partner for a while. Something like this wouldn't be enough to mess up a deal."

Kicho: "I explained the situation—told him I couldn't make it to the party and asked to reschedule the town tour. When I said I needed to head back early, he actually encouraged me and told me I should be by your side."

Mai: "Huh? He said that?"

Kicho: "Yeah. He might be a flirt, but he's considerate when it comes to women."

Kicho: "I told you—he flirts with every woman he sees, remember?"

(Right, that's why he said he couldn't bring me along.)

Mai: "Well, I'm glad it didn't cause any trouble."

I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

(Still, we were just lucky this time.)

(If he'd been stricter or less understanding, this could've ended really badly.)

Even though the deal didn't fall through, I still made him postpone his negotiations.

Ashamed I hadn't even taken care of my own health, I lowered my gaze.

Mai: "Still, I made you worry and made you come back."

Kicho: "Sick people don't need to apologize. Just focus on getting better."

He sounded like he was scolding me, but the tenderness in his voice and eyes made my heart skip a beat.

Kicho: "Even if you'd hidden it perfectly this morning, once you collapsed in your room, one of my men would've told me. I would've come back either way."

Kicho: "So don't go blaming yourself for not hiding it better."

Kicho: "If anything, I should be thinking of a little punishment for keeping secrets from me."

He flashed me a smile, and my heart skipped a beat.

Mai: "P–Punishment?"

Kicho: "You told a lie. You should at least expect that much."

Mai: "R-Right…"

(He's right. I did lie. I can't argue with that.)

(But what kind of punishment does he mean?)

Just thinking about it made me feel uneasy.

When I glanced up at him, trying to read his expression, he only smiled.

Kicho: "Well, that can wait until you're feeling better."

Kicho: "For now, stop worrying and rest."

He gently patted my head, his touch light and reassuring.

Kicho: "I'll stay here until you fall asleep."

Kicho: "So close your eyes and relax."

(Ah…)

He softly stroked my hair, and all the tension in my heart melted away.

(His hands are so warm.)

Wrapped in the comfort of his touch, I closed my eyes and slipped into another dream.

The next day…

Mai: "Um, you really don't have to go this far."

I said awkwardly, hugging my sleepwear around me to cover myself as best I could.

Kicho: "That's enough. Just stay still for a moment."

Kicho: "I'm going to touch you now."

Mai: "........."

He gently wiped the sweat from my back with a warm, damp cloth.

Kicho: "Is it too hot?"

Mai: "No. It's warm, and it feels nice."

Mai: "But I can wipe myself and get changed on my own, you know?"

Kicho: "You've got a fever. Times like this, it's okay to let someone take care of you."

Kicho: "Besides, it's not like you can even reach your back."

Since he got back yesterday, Kicho hasn't left my side. He's been looking after me with such gentle, devoted care.

After helping me clean up and get changed, he eased me back into bed.

Mai: "Thank you."

Kicho: "Are you thirsty?"

Mai: "I'm fine."

Kicho: "I see. I'll bring some rice porridge in a bit."

(He's taking such good care of me. I really am grateful. But...)

Mai: "Um, aren't you falling behind on your work? I'll be fine on my own. Maybe one of the maids could—"

Kicho: "This is something I want to do."

Kicho: "And I don't want anyone else seeing you vulnerable like this."

Kicho: "I've rarely had the chance to look after someone before. That's why getting to nurse the one I love and being allowed to stay by your side like this means everything to me."

His eyes softened as he looked at me. That warm, deep gaze made my chest tighten with emotion.

(He said taking care of me makes him happy.)

As I gripped the blanket tightly, his hand gently rested on my forehead. He leaned in, peering into my face.

Kicho: "Your cheeks are flushed. Did your fever go up again?"

Mai: "It's your fault."

Kicho: "Mine?"

He looked at me, confused.

Embarrassed, I pulled the blanket over my face.

Mai: "I-I'm happy you're the one taking care of me."

Kicho: "Is that so? Then I'm glad."

He smiled and stroked my head.

(His hand feels so nice.)

I guided his hand to my cheek and nuzzled into it like a cat.

Kicho: "Don't look at me like that while doing something so cute."

(Cute?)

I blushed, and he chuckled knowingly.

Kicho: "If that's what you want, I'll keep doing it as much as you like."

Mai: "Ah."

He slowly brushed his palm across my cheek, and I instinctively leaned into it.

(It's so comforting.)

(And his scent—even faint—is unmistakably him, warm and familiar.)

Mai: "Kicho…"

Kicho: "Hmm?"

Mai: "Once I'm feeling better… I want to thank you."

Mai: "So... can you think of something you'd like me to do for you?"

Kicho: "I don't need thanks. Like I said… there's a punishment waiting."

Kicho: "To make sure you never try to hide something from me again."

His sultry tone was followed by a sweet kiss pressed to my forehead.

(There he goes again.)

(But if it's a punishment from him...)

Just imagining it made my heart race, and I turned away, flustered.

Kicho: "Were you imagining what kind of punishment I might give you?"

Mai: "Well, yes…"

Kicho: "Right now, you just need to focus on getting better. Go back to sleep."

Mai: "Okay."

His fingers brushed against me with such tenderness, it tickled my skin in the most comforting way. And that warmth lulled me back to sleep.

Over the next few days, he never left my side—showering me with a kind of devotion I never imagined I'd experience.

Part 1 ╎ Premium ╎ Epilogue

[anotherhomelanderblog]

So, a common consensus seems to be that Homelander starts hating Hughie out of nowhere. Before he even knows he's involved with the group who killed Translucent, he sees him at the Believe Expo and decides to torment him. It's almost instinctive and a nice parallel to Butcher's similarly instinctive feelings towards Hughie. It helps set these two sides up against each other etc etc.

Buuuut... I do actually think there was a specific reason Homelander took an initial disliking to Hughie at the Believe Expo.

First of all, he was pissed off at Madelyn for prioritising Teddy over him, so he was already in the mood to subtly act up - as we see later when he gives his speech. But why target Hughie, this nobody he's never met before, out of every single person in that tent if he wanted someone safe to take his frustrations out on? For the plot, yes, but also...

I think he was doing it for Starlight. Hear me out.

We know a young Homelander was told by Vought that the Seven would be his family, and certainly in the early seasons we get moments where it's clear he does view them this way - albeit in a very messed up, controlling sense, but duh. He's the leader of the Seven, so therefore obviously he should be some kind of father figure to the younger members, right? He plays this role with A-Train when he finds out he and Popclaw have been shooting up V.

In the Believe Expo episode, we get Annie herself thinking Hughie has only befriended her for the perks being friends with someone in the Seven can get you - in this instance, tickets to Ezekiel's private and expensive baptism event. When Homelander introduces himself to Hughie, he makes it pretty clear he knows he's only there because he's Starlight's friend. He even makes a pointed comment about the tickets being pricey. Clearly, he believes Hughie is taking advantage of her too.

We don't see Homelander and Annie interact one to one an awful lot in S1. They sort of go from that very interesting scene on the corridor where they talk about secret identities to him getting all up in her face for "betraying" the Seven. We don't really get to know for sure if Annie's whole perception of Homelander was shattered in that latter moment, or if he'd already pulled intimidating stunts with her the way he does with A-Train, Deep, and Maeve. My point being, they don't appear to have been close on a personal level and - since Homelander is very prone to doing things for people without asking them first, anyway - it makes sense to me that he'd take this twisted, paternalistic approach to the situation he saw and intimidate Hughie on her behalf like this.

But still, he's Homelander. Why bother? This is Annie's problem. Well, not purely out of the goodness of his heart, of course. I do wish they'd explored Homelander and Annie's relationship and parallels a bit more throughout the show, but they didn't (and probably won't in S5, either). I'm not trying to claim he had any particular feelings towards her at this point in S1 - things didn't get truly messy between them before S3, anyway. I'm sure at first he thought she was a naive idiot due for a wake up call, who'd soon fall into line, and whom he didn't need to worry too much about.

But, all of that ambivalence aside, the fact remains for Homelander: Starlight is a supe and a member of the Seven. We know Homelander's views on humans, so in his books it'd be totally unacceptable for a supe, especially one at Starlight's level, to be taken advantage of - made a mockery of, taken for a ride, whatever - by the insipidly average human known as Hughie Campbell. Homelander can't have Hughie thinking he's gotten away with disrespecting the Seven like that. What makes him special? Nothing. Does he think he's clever getting himself freebies? Think again. Homelander could actually drown him right here, right now, if he was feeling vindictive enough.

It's petty behaviour, because Homelander is petty. And, to be fair, considering he's spent his entire life being taken advantage of for the sake of Vought's fortunes and people's entertainment... you can understand why this situation combined with an already bad mood irks him enough to act. He can't/won't attack the system that puts supes in this situation, but he can lash out at the little guy who thinks he's getting one up on them.

That's my interpretation, anyway! And, of course, the irony is that Hughie wasn't taking advantage of Annie because he wanted something as basic as VIP access to some dumb event - he was actually part of the group coming for Vought and Homelander. To Homelander, Annie really is betraying her "own kind" by still loving this guy in the later seasons. Maybe some part of him even thought he was saving her - as well as getting to torment both her and Hughie for his own amusement - by forcing her into a relationship with him in S3.

But that's another discussion...

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── some notes on bellerophon, part one! feel free to read these before/after/not at all, if you choose <33

-> although i did strive for accuracy to a certain extent, i am not a historian by any means, nor do i have the time to do in-depth research! so while for the most part, the setting of this story is based on ancient greece, as is the amphoreus we know, i did fill in some of the gaps with information from ancient rome, which i find to be much more accessible (i think in this chapter, there is only one instance of that, but i am sure it will happen again in the future!), as well as things from my own imagination (because it is fantasy after all)

-> all of the prayers to nikador and phainon are from translated hymns to athena and apollo, respectively, which i have cobbled together and tweaked to fit the plot of the story, so if they seem familiar, that would be why :)

-> if phainon feels out of character, i apologize — i think it will be the worst in this part (setting aside my lack-of-playing-amphoreus-ness), as reader is not particularly fond of him, and also, he is a god, so he naturally will be a little different from the very human character we know from the games just for that fact alone! but we will get somewhere close to our phainon at some point, i promise (or maybe it would be better to say i hope)

-> in a similar vein, most of phainon's antics in this chapter are pulled from various myths of zeus (albeit tamer, because it IS still phainon after all, and i just can't see him being on that type of diabolical timing) — if you think he's problematic, well. i mean. he's meant to be vaguely greek-god-inspired. so yes, reader probably does deserve better, and yes, he's kind of dubious in his ethics, especially right now. sorry!! (no i am not)

-> i took the most liberties with the grove and how it operated, as well as the characters of reader's uncle (who bears a familiar face, if not attitude) and the rest of the sages. i didn't feel like figuring out how the grove operates in canon so i decided that i would just do what i felt like and pray you all don't hate me for it

-> my sincerest apologies to socrippe, the npc sage who has been villainized in this chapter, but our bellerophon needed a queen anteia, and he was conveniently located enough to play the part

-> reader's life is meant to mirror bellerophon's, although the 'why' behind her ending up in these situations is entirely different from his — but if you get tired of her constantly getting exiled and suffering and whatnot, take it up with the ancient greeks, not me

-> the cult of nikador itself is not based on any existing religions, but the sacrificial ritual the reader describes is based on a scene in the odyssey, where nestor and his sons are sacrificing...i want to say a bull?? anways, i'm not here to speculate whether human sacrifice was or wasn't practiced back in the day, so just accept that part as fiction and for the plot and let us move on

-> reader's pony is not little ica, but he's also not NOT little ica, so you may do what you wish with that information (jokes aside, i picture the pony as a palomino, so not necessarily little ica colored, but who am i to dictate something so silly?)

-> and finally, i honestly think that i have catfished you all with that masterlist post, and i apologize in advance because i do not think the actual story can live up to your expectations HAHA but i hope you enjoy anyways!

[cinnamon7girl7]

"THE BET THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING"

I never thought a simple bet could change everything. Well, actually... if Satoru is involved, it's hard for anything not to end in chaos, laughter, or a story worth remembering.

We were at home, him with his sunglasses resting on his head, sprawled across the couch like he owned the universe —which, in a way, he does— and me with a cup of tea in my hands, watching him as he toyed with the air, probably manipulating the infinite like it was some kind of toy. Again.

—Do you think you could go a whole day without using your powers? —I asked, raising an eyebrow and hiding the smile threatening to escape.

Satoru turned his head toward me with that grin of his, all teeth and mischief, and clicked his tongue.

—And what would that be? Divine punishment? —he said, stretching like a lazy cat. —You know that without Infinity, I’m just an incredibly handsome man.

I rolled my eyes and walked over to him. I sat on his lap and set the cup aside, wrapping my arms around his neck.

—I just want to see how long you can last without teleporting, without making things float around, without stopping time whenever you feel like it. A day without your technique. If you’re as strong as you say, it should be a piece of cake, right, love?

—Is this a challenge? —he whispered, his lips dangerously close to mine.

—It’s a bet —I said, brushing my lips against his. —If you use Infinity, you lose. And if I use my technique, I lose. Whoever breaks first owes the other a wish.

—A wish with no restrictions. None of that “oh, but that doesn’t count” stuff. —Satoru smirked.

—No restrictions, baby. Do you accept, or are you scared?

—I accept, sweetheart. But when I win… be ready. Because my wish is going to be… very personal.

I rolled my eyes again, amused, but the warmth in my cheeks gave me away. He had that gleam in his eyes he always gets when something excites him, and me, well… I knew that would only make things more interesting.

The funny part is that neither of us realized just how hard it would be not to use our abilities. From the very first moment of the next day, everything seemed designed to tempt us.

First, it was breakfast.

Satoru wanted to make something for the two of us.

—"I can’t believe you’re peeling the potatoes by hand," —I teased from the kitchen, watching him curse under his breath as he nearly sliced a finger.

—"This is torture! Who peels potatoes without floating the skins in the air and making them disappear with an Infinity technique?!" —he grumbled.

—"Normal humans. And also your wife."

—"My wife who has a cursed technique that manipulates ancestral black fire? Don’t give me that, my love."

—"But I can cook without it, darling," —I winked at him as I walked over with the pan.

—He sighed dramatically and kissed my cheek.

—"This is cheating. You look gorgeous when you cook. I’m going to lose from sheer distraction."

—"So you’re already giving up, Satoru?"

—"Never, sweetheart. I can still fight."

Throughout the day, everything felt like a charming little game. We went for a walk and, of course, there were a couple of moments when Gojo Satoru, the Strongest Sorcerer, complained about the heat. And he, with all his divine ego, had to hold himself back from disappearing with his teleportation technique.

—I'm sweating, babe! I can't just poof back home! This is a crime —he whined, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

—Don’t complain. You look really sexy when you sweat.

—That doesn’t help, sweetheart. I want to wipe out the entire climate just to make it cloudy.

—You’ll lose if you do.

—…Damn it.

Every little obstacle was a test of patience, but also the perfect excuse to stay close. I loved seeing Satoru doing normal things—like struggling with a parking ticket or carrying heavy bags without activating his technique. It was a side of him that not many got to see.

And when night came, we were on the balcony, exhausted but with our fingers intertwined.

—I gotta admit something —he said, his voice soft and a little hoarse from all the self-restraint of the day—. I thought I was going to hate this.

—And?

—I didn’t hate it. It was… weird. But sweet.

—Did you feel more human?

—I felt more yours.

I turned to look at him, my heart beating wildly.

—Toru…

—Sometimes I think I hide behind Infinity. But today… I was just me. And you stayed.

—I’ll always stay —I assured him, wrapping my arms around him—. Because I didn’t fall in love with the strongest. I fell in love with Satoru.

—…Damn it, sweetheart.

—What?

—I accidentally stopped time for a second. Just… to stay in this moment a little longer.

—You lost! —I said, gently pushing him.

—It doesn’t count! It was for love!

—It counts. You know what that means.

Satoru lowered his head dramatically.

—Alright, darling. I’m all yours. What’s your wish?

And I smiled. Because I had the perfect wish.

I never imagined Satoru would actually lose. And even less for something as sweet as stopping time just to look at me.

Technically, he lost. And that meant now… he had to fulfill his punishment.

—So, beautiful —he said in that deep, playful voice of his—, what’s your wish? What are you going to ask for? A whole week without my powers? Or that I clean the house?

—No. —I smiled mischievously, sitting gently on his lap as I looked straight into those eyes that had saved me so many times—. I want you to fulfill a… personal wish.

His eyebrows rose.

—Personal? Are you implying something, sweetheart?

I moved closer, feeling his breath brush my skin.

—I want a night with you… but a night where you stop being the Strongest Sorcerer and just be my Satoru. No escapes, no jokes. Just you. Me. And this moment.

He swallowed and looked down for barely a second. Not because he doubted, but because he loved pretending he didn’t expect me to pick exactly that.

—You just destroyed me, babe. —He smiled, resting his forehead against mine—. Do you know what you make me feel when you talk to me like that?

—Show me —I whispered.

And he did.

I’m going to be posting mini concepts since I’m writing a long story like "Dad in Training."